Hannah More School - Within the Lych Gate Yearbook (Reisterstown, MD)

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CLASS PROPHESY It was Alumnae Day, December 1949, and One Who Shall Be Nameless quietly sneaked into the drawing room, cautiously peered about its shadowy interior, and then apparently satisfied, silently closed the doors after putting large Do Not Disturb-Tutoring signs on each. With a weary sigh she sank into a comfortable chair before the flickering fire. CYes, my little Sherlocks, the draw- ing room of 1949 had a fireplacej The pale freckles of One Who Shall Be Nameless all but jumped with delight, as she realized how successful was her retreat. That horde of exuberant Alumnae could never find her here. She patted her Algebra book in satisfaction. Now for some good hard work. She chuckled in soft delight. To her amazement answering chuckles echoed from the shadowy corners. That's funny, she said. I never knew this room had echoes. To her amazement more chuckles gurgled from the flickering shadows. One Who Shall Be Nameless shook herself sleepily. How silly she was to imagine things like that! She must be doing too many rate-distance problems .... She yawned drowsily .... Let's see about Virginia Martin, said the Spirit. All right, said One Who Shall Be Nameless, but what do you know about Virginia Martin? The Spirit looked at her. I know everything, it said. I always have. Don't you remember? An old memory stirred in O.W.S.B.N.'s brain. A little, she confessed, but it's still a bit hazy. It shouldn't be, chided the Spirit reprovingly, Well, come along. . . . Standing at the head of a staircase receiving ermined Duchesses and gartered Dukes were Martin and a figure resplendent in gold braid and decorations, Why, that's-, gasped O.W.S.B.N. The very same, nodded the Spirit, The Ambassador to the Court of St. James. They say Martin's a great help to him, She zips thing up as it were. You ought to hear her broad NA , too. Even the English can't beat it. Looks very lovely, doesn't she? But he received no answer. O.W.S.B.N. was speechless. That's Shirley Wilson over there, continued the Spirit, and Connie Peterkin. Shirley's playing for royalty now, and Connie is in Covent Garden this season. She has devoted her life to her career, but Shirley hasn'tt been so faithful. I don't know Whether that's a clergyman or organist with her. My eyes must be going bad. I guess so, agreed O.W.S.B.N. Look, she cried excitedly, There are Sally Burwell and Betsy Prosser and Corny Harrison. She turned to the Spirit in helpless wonder. What are these people doing here? The Spirit looked at her sympathetically. It is awful, isn't it? After ten years . . . Well, she was brisk again. BurWell's living here in London. She's married to a chap named Christopher Robbin. You probably remember her speaking about him. They met each other at Wimbledon. W-W-hat about Prosser, quavered O.W,S.B.N. It isn't true that she's doing something in the gym line, is it? She brightened a little, She still has that Superior Look, though. That's because she's Editor of the Atlantic Monthly, said the Spirit. I25l

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SENIOR SONG To thee, Hannah More, '39 pledges honor, devotion, and true loyalty And prays that thy daughters eternally striving May ever be worthy of thee. In conscience, in spirit, in Hrm resolution, In ideals and the fruits that they bring, May we go on believing in all Lve're receiving Of thee, Hannah More, as we sing: O Alma Mater, dear, Hark to thy praises clear, And bless and guide thy children Who hail thee far and near With black bold and bright gold hold the chords fast forever, That bind us in comradeship free, And grant that those bonds through the years may not sever, Our class, '39 holds with thee. We thank thee for wisdom, true sportsmanship, pleasures, For friends, and the joys that they bring. May we go on believing in this love uJe're receiving Of thee, Hannah More, as we sing: O Alma Mater, dear Hark to they praises clear, And bless and guide thy children Who hail thee far and near. BETSY PROSSER, '39 U41

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As for the other, well, you know how Prosser felt about gym. She gives a prize every year, though, at Hannah More, to the best all-round non-athlete. That's probably what you're thinking about. Probably, said O.W.S.B.N. Now tell me about Corny. What's she doing here? . Research, said the Spirit airily, research. Some sort of Child psychol- ogy business. 'Habits and their Hold.' Speaking of habits, I wonder if she still plays with her napkin ring? The Spirit silenced her with a look. I'm sorry, apologized O.W.S.B.N. Tell me about the others, she added hastily. I think I recognize you. You're the Spirit of '39. Slightly mollified, the Spirit smoothed her black and gold garments and Went on. Eleanor Waller is laughing for the Shadow. You know, over the radio. O.W.S.B.N. smiled. She knew every radio program on the air. And Laura? she asked. f , 'Laura. Well, Laura has a job on Ellis Island. She harangues and makes aces. Ellis Island? Harangues? Makes faces? What do you mean? Don't you remember how she used to speak in dialects and make faces for us? Well, they needed someone to make the immigrants feel they're understood, and while, of course, they don't know what Laura's talking about-you know how she rambles-her chatter soothes them. She makes faces to cheer up the babies, and-- How 'bout Bonnie Jean? interrupted One Who Shall Be Nameless. What is she doing now? Digging, said the Spirit succinctly. You mean dirty digging? demanded One Who Shall Be Nameless with interest. No, of course not. She's digging up ancient ruins someplace in Greece. The natives think she's quite batty. She recites the 'Congo' to them every night. Do you remember the 'Congo?' Yes, yes, interposed One Who Shall Be Nameless hastily. Now tell me about Lois Anne. What's she doing? She translating 'Doc Savage' into French and all other languages including the Scandinavian. Quite a surprise, N'est-ce pas? l'Quite. Well- One Who Shall Be Nameless steeled herself. Tell me about Brad. Whatever happened to her? The Spirit wiped a tear from her eye. It's so sad, she muttered brokenly, so sad. Brad's a Lonely Heart. A LONELY HEART? Yes, she just sits and writes letters to Lonely Hearts. Isn't it pathetic? Dreadful, sympathized O.W.S.B.N., and so unexpected. 'Yes. Well, we must go on. Virginia Ray is working in a Canadian Travel Agency and loves it. She lives on Canadian bacon and Canada Dry. Thrives, too, they tell me. And Ruthellen? She and Stevie are nursing. Ruthellen is up at Sargents', you know the gym school, and Stevie is nursing a handsome medico's heart. u l26l